


Helpless

by rlwrites



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Stabbing, and panic, and yeah, but mostly feels, there's some pretty graphic descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6979168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rlwrites/pseuds/rlwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so tumblr user bellamyblake posted a prompty type thing and my head kinda just went with it</p><p>"What about instead of Finn Bellamy got stabbed by Lincoln while saving his sister and Clarke has to save him? Huh? Is there already a fic like this? Gosh I’m such a sucker for hurt Bellamy and caretaking Clarke. So anyone in the mood to write a little something? I pay in hugs, kisses, cookies and gifsets. Yes? Please?! *bellamypuppyeyes*"</p><p>so yeah, enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helpless

"Don’t thank me, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for Octavia." 

She’d said the words less than 24 hours ago-- _god, could it really be such a short time ago?--_ but as Clarke stands in the dropship with Bellamy’s blood all over her shaking hands, the storm brewing outside, and Raven’s hard voice cutting through the chaos, she swears it feels like it’s been at least three days. 

. . . . 

“Clarke!” Jasper rushes into camp, out of breath and clutching at his side. “Where’s Clarke?” 

Clarke climbs out of her tent. “I’m here. What’s up?” She’s about to ask again but then Finn walks in carrying Bellamy and her stomach drops out of her butt—something that still happens every time someone walks into camp covered in blood. She hopes she never gets used to it. 

“Bellamy?” She makes it to them in three strides before she freezes in her tracks, her eyes blowing wide when they land on the vicious knife sticking out of his chest. “Oh my god.” 

Her breath escapes in a whoosh when she finds his pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there. He’s alive. 

Clarke begins to check over his body, hands hovering over the knife and the wound that is staining his shirt black. The little bit of the knife that is still exposed is jagged and wicked and Clarke has to swallow down the bile that rises in her throat. 

“Finn wouldn’t let me take the knife out,” Jasper says, sounding unsure. 

"No, that was a good call.” Her eyes lock with Finn’s. The weight of his glance is heavy and awkward between them before she ducks under her hair. She can’t look at him for too long after what he did to her, after what he did to Raven. 

Bellamy is rushed into the drop ship and placed on a makeshift table. Clarke doesn’t like seeing him like this, unconscious and limp and so unlike the force of nature she has known Bellamy to be. 

Octavia pushes through the small crowd that has formed. There is only enough time for a flash of relief to see her back before Octavia is gripping her forearm like a lifeline. "Clarke, can you save him?" 

Clarke’s mind races through the patchwork of knowledge she has to figure out if she knows enough to pull it of--but Octavia is looking at her with such urgency and Jasper shouts her name again and it’s all so much--she can’t think straight, can’t put her thoughts in order. She’s helpless. 

“No, not me. I need my mother. I need to talk to her." 

“Can you _do_ that? Can you talk to her?" 

She doesn’t know, is the thing. Raven has been working on a radio, but they haven’t been able to get a signal at all, let alone one strong enough to connect to the Ark. Raven steps forward, shaking her head. “There’s still no radio.” 

“Then _fix it_ ,” Octavia bites, "that’s my brother in there.” 

“I don’t-“ 

“Raven.” Clarke presses her mouth into a tight, encouraging smile. “I need you to try.” 

A fiercely intense beat passes between them. Clarke can see Raven trying to work out if she’s willing to set aside her hate to help. Clarke so desperately wants to sink under the weight of it, to clutch Raven's hands and say she’s sorry for all that’s happened with them, that she didn’t know, that she hates that Finn did this to her, to _them_. But Clarke can’t be that girl. She has to be the strong and stoic one now that Bellamy is hurt, unbending in the face of catastrophe until he’s strong enough to bear that burden again. Raven seems to sense that. Her brow smoothes and she nods, short and quick, before running off to the radio. 

Clarke lets out another breath, reaching out to squeeze Octavia’s hand before sprinting to the dropship. 

. . . . . 

“This is Raven Reyes. Calling Ark Station. Please come in…” 

Static. 

“Are you sure you have the right frequency?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Raven snaps. She’s as frustrated as they all are, the static of empty radio waves wearing them down. 

Clarke catches her eye. “Raven, you can do this. Okay?” 

Finn ushers everyone out and Clarke presses into a tight smile of thanks. 

The rag around the knife still stuck in Bellamy’s chest is already soaked through. She needs to change it before it gets infected. “How did this happen?” 

“We found Octavia in a cave that belonged to a grounder.” 

“And Bellamy went and got himself skewered.” Clarke rolls her eyes because she’s too tired to respond with anything other than cynicism. “Typical." 

"The grounder attacked Finn, it all happened so fast. I--" Jasper digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Bellamy jumped in to help. I didn’t even see the knife until after-" 

“He was trying to impale me with a spear,” Finn says, his mouth twisting with self-depreciation. “Jasper knocked him out.” 

“You did good, Jasper.” Clarke squeezes his arm. 

The radio pops and a voice crackles out of the speakers. “Raven? Raven are you there?” 

Electricity shocks through Clarke’s spine. “Raven! Raven you did it!" 

It’s her mother’s voice that crackles through the speakers and a flash of relief floods through her body. 

“Mom?” 

. . . . . 

Pulling the knife from Bellamy's chest is terrifying. The storm sends Finn and Jasper out to help the rest of the delinquents save the camp and also causes her mother’s voice to cut in and out, only grating on her already strung-out nerves. The anxiety and tension in the room is palpable, almost suffocating, and as Clarke braces against his ribs and grasps the knife--his skin hot and wet with blood--she wants nothing more than to turn around and retch into the corner. But then Bellamy’s eyes shoot open, and a horrible sound is ripped from his throat. 

“He’s waking up,” Octavia breathes. 

“Hold him still,” Clarke tells her. “Bellamy, I’m gonna get that knife out of you okay?” 

“Good plan,” he tries to joke, but his breath is ragged and deep and he’s grunting and flinching against the pain. 

"Bellamy you can’t move, you got it?" 

Bellamy’s jaw clenches tight and he practically growls with the effort it takes to keep as still as possible. He’s still shaking too much and it makes her nervous to pull. She can't focus; the knowledge that even a millimeter the wrong way could kill him is making it impossible. There is absolutely no forgiveness, no margin for error. She cannot mess this up. 

And then a violent rumble of thunder sounds and the dropship shudders, ripping Clarke backwards, knife in hand. 

There is a moment where everything freezes and it takes all of Clarke’s strength just to lift her head off of the ground. Head ringing and eyes searching, she finds Bellamy sprawled out on the floor. There’s a terrifying moment where he lays still, as the world shakes around them, and Clarke thinks he’s gone. A hollowing ache of loneliness settles in the pit of her stomach. 

It takes her off guard, at first, this strong and foreign reaction to the possibility of losing Bellamy. But before she can even begin to figure out what that means, Bellamy’s head rolls to the side and he moans. 

. . . . . 

“Clarke! He’s seizing!" 

When she skids back into the room Bellamy is convulsing, the chords in his neck standing out on his neck, the muscles in his arms and chest straining and slick with sweat. He’s far paler than normal and when Clarke presses a palm to his chest, she curses at the heat of his skin. Octavia is screaming his name, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

It’s sobering and scary to watch as Bellamy is attacked by his own body. Clarke can only try to keep Octavia calm until his body stops shaking. Helpless. 

“Bell. You can’t leave me, Bell.” Octavia’s voice is hoarse as she says it into his hair. 

Clarke presses the back of her hand to his forehead. “God, he’s burning up.” 

She tries to think about what could be causing this, but the only thing flashing through her head is that _she_ _doesn’t know_. She doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what’s wrong, doesn’t know how to make him better. Everything is all wrong. 

She hates the way his freckles stand out so stark on his nose, hates that he looks so soft when his face is lax. The only way she wasn’t to be seeing Bellamy--who is all sharp edges and strong jaws and hardhats determination--this soft is when he spreads into a smile because he loves his sister or because Jasper and Monty do something stupid and funny. Not because his strength and consciousness is literally being drained from him. 

A foamy substance begins to leak from his mouth and her body locks up with another wave of helplessness, but at least it provides some clarity in her mind. 

“I did everything she told me!” Clarke’s running her hands over his body, trying to find something, _anything_ , when her elbow knocks something off of the table. It clatters onto the ground, the metallic clang breaking through the ringing in her ears that comes with extreme levels of stress and panic. 

“Poison.” It spills out of her mouth before she even fully realizes that, _yes_ , that must be it. 

“Clarke, you sterilized everything. I watched you do it!” Octavia searches Clarke’s face for answers, desperate. But Clarke is still fixated on the ground. 

The knife. 

“Not everything." 

Understanding flashes behind Octavia’s eyes. “Clarke, I can go ask him.” 

“What?” 

“The grounder. He saved me before. He healed fixed my leg. I think he’ll help me.” 

“Octavia, he was the one who stabbed Bellamy in the first place! Why would he help?” 

Octavia’s jaw tightens in a move that’s eerily reminiscent of her brother. Clarke almost shivers. “Just…” she says, standing taller. “Trust me, okay?” 

Clarke purses her lips, hesitant, but nods her head. She doesn’t want Octavia to get anywhere near the grounder—Bellamy would _kill_ her—but she doesn’t have any better ideas. So she watches Octavia limp away and hopes that by the grace of god that it works. 

She pushes his sweaty hair off of his forehead as she waits and worries. And then waits some more. They can’t lose him, she thinks. She needs him, _they all do_ , in order to survive down here on this godforsaken ground. Everyone looks up to him, they won’t listen to her if he’s gone. 

She has to save him. 

“You can’t die, Bellamy.” Clarke rests her head against his, his forehead burning under hers. “I need you, asshole. I can’t do this without you.” 

She waits for what feels like three more days but is probably only minutes. With the rollercoaster of adrenaline and panic, time feels unreal--slowing down and speeding up and leaving her exhausted. It’s just all _so much_ and Clarke is tired of having to be so strong, she just wants to break down and cry about everything. Finn. Raven. Octavia. _Her_ _mother_. 

She sniffs, lifting her head and smoothing back Bellamy’s hair once more. A strange moment of peace settles around them, in the midst of the storm. Clarke studies him, takes in the scar above his lip, the cleft in his chin. It’s weird, he’s actually quite beautiful underneath all the brooding and surliness. She softens, begins to feel like the loneliness eating away at the lining of her stomach isn’t just because she’s afraid to lead the delinquents by herself. Maybe she’s afraid to lead without _him_. 

But before she can analyze it any further, Octavia’s voice rings out through the dropship, the pounding of her boots getting louder and louder as she nears. “I got it! Clarke, I got the antidote!” 

There’s another surge of time after that--as Clarke lifts Bellamy’s head so they can tip the vial of yellow-tinged liquid down his throat—followed by more stagnation as they sit back and wait for it to work. 

“He’ll need clean water, Octavia. Can you—“ 

“Yeah.” 

Clarke tries to clean as she waits. She scrubs his blood off of the table, the needle and pliers she used to stitch him up, her hands. 

“so you need me, huh?” 

Clarke nearly eats shit in her haste to his side. The left corner of his mouth twitches as he laughs, only to twist into a grimace. Clarke is almost delirious with relief, giddy enough to want to break into a massive smile. She busies herself with checking him instead. 

“Don’t make me regret saving your life.” 

Bellamy closes his eyes as she feels his forehead, presses her ear to his breastbone to listen to his breathing, takes his wrist to take his pulse. He’s stabilizing, growing stronger, thank god. 

His hand scrabbles for hers, pulling her attention back up to his face. She can’t read his expression, can’t figure out what is going on behind his big, brown eyes, and she’s surprised by how much she wants to know. 

“Thanks, princess.” 

Clarke squeezes his hand, shrugs to give off the appearance of nonchalance despite the fact that she’s been emotionally bled dry over the past 24 hours. 

“I can’t do this without you." 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first the 100 fic so let me know if it's okay
> 
> you can come yell at me at my tumblr [here](http://www.braverybros.tumblr.com)


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